


Even still she is lovely

by Cafechan



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Humanized Wheatley, Post-Portal 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cafechan/pseuds/Cafechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don’t be sad, he tells himself, because this is still the best opportunity he could have received. At least he could tell her that he’s sorry. He wasn’t expecting forgiveness, and quite frankly, it would have been presumptuous of him to expect anything at all. No, he’s thrilled to be able to see her again and say the things he needed to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even still she is lovely

**Author's Note:**

> featuring bad draws by yours truly!

Wheatley has a lot of mixed messages running through his newly acquired brain, but presiding over all of them is a sense of gratitude. He’s confused and sore and anxious, but he’s so thankful to even have this kind of opportunity that it’s a little easier to overlook the less pleasant thoughts. When he considers the alternatives—either floating through space for all eternity or being crushed into powder by Her—he really has no logical choice other than to be happy. After all, neither of those outcomes would have allowed him to say sorry.

With some effort, he masters coordination of the strange human body She provided for him. It’s not hard, really, just a lot of mental multitasking. God, do humans have a lot limbs. From there he begins to walk without really knowing where to go. He has no clue where he’ll find her, but that’s okay. He needs a little extra time to rehearse what he wants to say anyway. The last thing he wants to do after going through all of this is to end up saying something… moronic.

-

It doesn’t take long for him to realize that human bodies are surprisingly frail and needy, and it takes another day after reaching this conclusion before he figures out how to satisfy some of these needs. He only has vague ideas pertaining to what edible substances look like, and something he hazards a taste of leaves him retching for the remainder of the evening. He spends the rest of the week trying to decide whether hunger pain or violent illness is better. It’s not a big deal, he thinks. He should be elated to even have the privilege of being sick in this body.

By now, he’s memorized his speech. He doesn’t want to brag, but in his opinion, it’s the perfect balance of eloquent and apologetic. He can’t wait to finally present it to her.

-

Wheatley used to have an internal calendar, and now that it’s gone, time has become a droll and inconsequential thing that he can’t really bother to keep track of. He has the vague idea that it’s been a month or so, but he’s not sure. The outside world is a rather large place as far as he can tell, so how could he expect to find her right away?

The important thing is that he’s found her. He’s finally found her! She’s different, just a bit, than how he remembers her, but maybe that’s just a result of his faulty human eyes. Her warm complexion has lost its glow, and the concentrated tension that usually dons her features is gone as if it had never existed, but even still she is lovely.

He stutters, his thoughts crashing into each other like frenzied bumper cars, his tediously memorized words slipping between his fingers like sand. But she remains patient (always patient).

“Hello! Hello, lady. It’s been a bit of a while, hasn’t it? You must be surprised, right? Well, guess who! It’s little old Wheatley. Except I’m not too terribly little anymore, huh? Quite the—quite the tall body She put me into… Oh, She did this for me, by the way. Surprising, isn’t it? I was surprised myself! Not quite sure why, yet. Thought for sure She’d either forget about me forever or else smash me to bits, yes. Can’t say I would have blamed Her though, after, uh. After what I did to the both of you. Which, incidentally, leads me to my main point!”

He inhales, winding up for the big plunge. She doesn’t interrupt or turn away. He smiles wryly and continues.

“I’m…” I’m sorry for being bossy and monstrous, I’m sorry for betraying you, I’m sorry for being terrible and stupid and  _selfish_. It’s all there in his outline, meticulously prepared and scripted for the ultimate apology, but in the end, all he says is, “I’m so sorry…”

And then, after managing a mangled breath, “Please forgive me…”

She doesn’t reply. She doesn’t bat an eyelash. And he knows—he  _knows_ —that this is the most realistic outcome. Had he been in her shoes (boots, rather, anti-gravity boots), he wouldn’t forgive himself either, but that doesn’t stop the steely silence from piercing any deeper, from twisting something deep within his already aching gut.

Don’t be sad, he tells himself, because this is still the best opportunity he could have received. At least he could tell her that he’s sorry. He wasn’t expecting forgiveness, and quite frankly, it would have been presumptuous of him to expect anything at all. No, he’s thrilled to be able to see her again and say the things he needed to say.

It’s just a shame she’s not alive to respond.


End file.
